Originally posted at DD-LJ, 4 May 2007

Title: Players
Author: snegurochka_lee
Characters: Snape/Black
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Theme chosen: Autagonistophilia: arousal by being "on stage"
Word Count: ~3,500
Summary: If Grimmauld Place is a stage, and all the men and women in it merely players, then there really isn't any reason for Snape to take it all so seriously, now is there?
Author's notes: Took a bit of liberty with the theme here, but I think it still fits. ;) Thanks to islandsmoke for the beta help.



PLAYERS

by Snegurochka

*

There was blood around that kitchen table. Snape could feel it.

It throbbed with his every breath, raced when he uttered certain phrases, slowed almost to a stop when he himself paused for effect. The dozen men and women crammed around the table, like King Arthur's misguided knights, gathered here every other evening because of him. They ached to hear what he would say. They licked their lips in anticipation of his next words. They panted like dogs; trembled like rabbits; obeyed like dutiful pets.

In sum, holding such sway over this audience gave Snape a thrilling sense of his own power, and that, more than any other aphrodisiac, made him so hard he could barely stand it.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said when he finished, as always, nodding gravely and steepling his fingers together as his eyes swept the room to gauge his soldiers' responses to the latest intelligence from the other side. "The entire Order appreciates your efforts. Please, stay for some soup?"

Molly Weasley pushed her sizeable girth away from the table at that, her hands still shaking, and made for the soup pot, but Snape held up a hand.

"No," he said, gathering his robes and breathing in the scent of fear in the room. "It has been a long evening. I must go." With that final layer of melodrama, he absorbed the energy of the room, hiding a smirk at the way even the Gryffindors shivered at his reports of the Dark Lord's plans. Lupin and Black and those insufferable Weasleys, not to mention the entire Auror corps in attendance, all fell silent in awe as he spoke.

His cock ached from it.

"Very well," Dumbledore said with another solemn nod, rising to show Snape the door, and without another word to his captive audience, Snape swept out of the kitchen and made for the upstairs loo.

It was always like this: by the time the meeting had ended he'd worked himself into a froth of arousal, and there was something thrilling and sinister about getting himself off in Black's filthy house. On occasion he had even been known to smear a nearly-invisible, finger-width trail of come up the wall as he finished, a gesture that amused him terribly.

They would all assume he'd left, just as they always did. They would frantically discuss his report among themselves, gasping in fear and throwing their hands up – "What should we do, Albus?" – and generally dash around the kitchen dishing up more soup and debating matters (that needed no debate) until well past midnight.

He had at least twenty minutes before one of them would think to piss out all that milky tea they were forced to drink.

*

Sirius leaned his chair back on two legs and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the greasy bat holding court at the head of the table.

Every meeting was the same old thing – Snivellus prancing around in those devil robes, his chin tilted up as if he were fucking royalty, insisting on absolute silence while he spoke, and generally addressing the Order as if its members had the combined intelligence of an infant Flobberworm. It was bollocks, and Sirius had to sit there and play nice and pretend to listen as eagerly as the others, to let that condescending prick take over his house. Hell, if Dumbledore had his way, Sirius would likely have to wipe the greasy git's arse for him on the way out.

To show his solidarity, see. Convince Dumbledore he could be a team player after all, could handle working with the others long enough to actually get out of this fucking house and do something.

Fuck that.

He gripped his tea cup in one hand like it was a Bludger (or a bottle of Firewhisky), raising it to his lips rhythmically and knocking the stuff back because each gulp was another second where his view of Snape was obstructed by chipped china. He resented the way everyone else in the room seemed to tremble in Snape's presence, as though he was some living god, just because he regularly went down on Voldemort to please the sodding Headmaster.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said at last, rising to see the git out, and thank fucking God, it was over.

Snape managed to insult Molly and several of the others once more before leaving, twirling those robes again like a circus performer and slamming the kitchen door behind him. Sirius glanced over at Remus and rolled his eyes, giving him a friendly kick under the table. Remus only glared at him in warning, because Remus wasn't any fun anymore.

Sod it.

He drained the last of his umpteenth cup of shitty tea and pushed his chair back. He didn't really feel like sticking around while Shacklebolt made yet another valiant effort to attach his lips to Dumbledore's arse, or Tonks made the same effort towards Remus's cock. He left the kitchen as quickly as he could and headed for the upstairs loo.

*

Snape clicked the door shut behind him and leaned against the wall, pressing one hand to his groin and closing his eyes. Oh God, yes. He massaged himself for a few seconds over his trousers, his robes hanging open, replaying that night's meeting in his mind and letting the full weight of the experience fill his cock.

Oh, they had been mesmerised tonight, slack-jawed and drooling for him, hanging off his every word. He had only needed to utter the barest of fear-inducing phrases to make their skin prickle.

"He has infiltrated the Ministry." Oh yes, that one always worked.

"He is planning an attack on Hogwarts." Snape could still see the twitch in the Weasley man's jaw.

"He has a contact in Hogsmeade." If they could have applauded him, they would have.

His performance was unparalleled, hitting just the right note of gravity and hope, convincing them at every turn that this war was at its most dangerous point but it could still be won, that their children were not dead yet. The looks in their eyes as they watched him was –

Forget the trousers. He tore open the fastenings and dug his cock out, fisting it with a rough, dry hand and biting his lip to keep from groaning. His entire body was hot, blood thrumming just under the surface of parched skin and the desperation of his arousal sparking down his spine and through his fingertips. He breathed steadily through his nose, pressing his lips together as one hand scratched at the wall behind him and the other flew over his cock, Dumbledore's lauding voice seeping into his mind. "Thank you, Severus…"

He was close, his cock thick in his hand and his nerves alive with sensation, just a few more strokes and he would –

"Fucking git and his fucking speeches. Swear to God, if I–"

Snape froze.

The door clicked open and a muttering, stumbling, furious Sirius Black kicked his way inside, stopping dead at the sight of Snape pressed against the wall with his cock out.

*

"Oh, you are fucking kidding me!" Sirius threw his head back and laughed as loudly and obnoxiously as he could, keeping the door open with a well-placed foot and letting his eyes wander with obvious abandon over Snape's body as the idiot fumbled with his trousers. "Let's see it, then, Snivellus," he sneered, making to grab at Snape's belt and haul his placket open again. "You get this up just for me, then? How sporting of you. No, really, I'm honoured," he insisted as Snape's face purpled, "but I just don't think of you that way."

"Get your hands off me," Snape spat, shoving Sirius's hand away and trying to force his cock back into his trousers.

"I have to say, I'm rather surprised," continued Sirius, reconsidering his stance on privacy and kicking the door shut as he moved closer to Snape. His palm landed hard against the wall beside Snape's head, and he leaned in closer. "Didn't know a kitchen full of Gryffindors could have this effect on you. Who was it, then?" he said, narrowing his eyes. "Remus? Wouldn't surprise me. He's quite fit, isn't he?"

Snape made to throw Sirius back again and reach for his wand, but Sirius was faster, locking his forearm over Snape's throat and producing Snape's wand with his other hand. He held it in front of Snape's face and grinned.

"This what you want? No, I don't think so." He gripped the wand firmly against any attempt at a silent Accio spell and pressed Snape against the wall. "Where was I…? Right, then. Maybe Remus did this to you… or maybe not. Are you into blokes, Snivvy? Don't tell me it's pussy you want – my dear half-blood cousin, perhaps?" His eyes dropped to Snape's crotch and saw no movement. "It is blokes, then," he said loudly, laughing again. "Who is it? Shacklebolt? Weasley? Or Dumbledore… ah, yes, I think we have a winner."

"As usual, Black, you have overtaxed your brain and come out limping," Snape said, his eyes murderous and his pale lips stark against his pinkened cheeks. He had stopped struggling, though, which pleased Sirius. "However, I notice you haven't left yet, and you seem to have an unnatural interest in my cock." His face steeled in challenge, and Sirius glared.

"I have no interest in anything here other than taking a piss," he said. "You and your floppy cock are just in my way." He gave Snape one more shove before lowering his arm and turning to the toilet, exaggerating the act of unbuttoning his trousers.

"You only wish they'd listen to you the way they listen to me," Snape's oily voice said behind him, and his hands paused on his belt.

He turned. "What?"

"I said, you're finished, Black. None of them cares what you think about this war, do they? Not like me. They drink in everything I say." He breathed in deeply through his nostrils, a nauseating smile on his face. "It's arousing, to be the centre of attention that way. Particularly when I get to watch you being utterly ignored as they fawn over me."

Sirius charged forward again, dropping the wand as he trapped Snape against the wall and shoved a thigh into his groin. "Shut the fuck up," he spat. "You get your cock up in my house, you fucking pay for it." He ground his leg in, feeling Snape's cock harden again against his thigh and Snape's breath hitch in his throat. He pushed his forearm over Snape's chest and let his free hand drop to Snape's trousers, yanking his cock out again and wrapping angry fingers around it. "You get hard from my friends?" he hissed. "Then this is what you get. I want you to beg me, Snape. Beg me for it."

He twisted his hand and pulled hard, swiping his thumb over the smooth head of Snape's cock and biting the inside of his cheek to keep his own groan to himself. Fucking hell, but Snape had a gorgeous cock. Thick and hot, it slid easily through his fist and throbbed at just the right moments as Sirius's hand sped up. Thin fluid seeped down and smeared against his palm, easing the strokes and causing Snape's lips to part at last and a strangled gasp to escape.

"Beg me," Sirius whispered, leaning forward to let Snape feel hot breath against his ear.

Snape's chest rose and fell frantically, but he turned his head to the side and gave Sirius a mouthful of greasy hair. "No," he said.

Sirius stilled his hand. "Fine," he snapped, giving Snape's cock one last squeeze before lifting his hand away and laughing again. He turned to the toilet once more, grinding his teeth to will away his own erection because fuck, he really did have to piss. He barely had his cock out, pointing with some difficulty down into the bowl, when a sudden hand on his shoulder knocked him around again and shoved him, half-clothed, down onto the seat of the toilet.

Snape held him down with one hand curled in the shoulder of his shirt, the other back around his own cock. Sirius stared at the thick red cock staring him in the face and swallowed, livid that he was having any reaction to this whatsoever but unable to move away. He refused to look at Snape's face, mesmerised as he was by the pumping cock in front of him, the sheen of liquid smeared over the tip and the specific grip Snape had around it.

"Look at me," Snape whispered, his voice raw, and the second Sirius's eyes snapped up to Snape's face, he felt thick wetness dripping down his own exposed cock. He gasped and dropped his eyes again, watching Snape come over top of him, white strands coating his belly and cock and still pulsing through Snape's slowing fist. With one last squeeze, Snape lifted his hand away and leaned forward to wipe it against Sirius's arm before Sirius could react.

He was out the door a second later, wand stowed and trousers fastened, leaving Sirius hard, panting, and covered in come on the edge of the toilet.

*

At the next meeting, Snape pushed back the kitchen door and almost immediately felt his arousal build. There were new members this time, Aurors and Weasleys and others who remained suitably impressed with his position, his willingness to work 'undercover' to bring the Dark Lord down from the inside. Fools, the lot of them, but the adoration did not go unnoticed.

His eyes swept the room as he spoke, absorbing every rapt face, every furious hand taking notes, every awed expression that hung on his words from all corners of the cramped kitchen. As always, he felt the familiar surge in his cock at this power, taking care to craft his performance to reap maximum benefit from his audience. When his gaze finally landed on Black, the usual fit of contempt was replaced by something else.

The fool was leaning back on two legs of his chair, as usual, arms folded sullenly across his chest and his face schooled into a practiced expression of neutral loathing. Snape's eyes lingered a fraction of a second too long on the crotch of Black's denims, glaringly obvious between his legs as they spread wide over the chair, neither robes nor shirt covering it up. A captive audience of Order members was almost good enough, but a captive audience of Black, forced to sit there and listen to Snape's words, well. That was a whole new level of power.

His mind flashed back to the thrill of coating Black in come that night, watching the idiot's face as he didn't even fight it, didn't even try to stop Snape from milking every drop of come out of his body and over Black's own red cock. He could barely make it through his report in one piece, and when it was over, he shunned Dumbledore's offer of food, as usual, nodded curtly at the others, and barged out of the kitchen.

In a fit of madness, he made his way to the upstairs loo and stood against the wall, breathing shallowly and fighting not to touch himself.

Five… four… three… two… one…

Black pushed the door open and glared at him.

"Don't say a fucking word," Black warned, his voice low and angry, before kicking the door shut and pushing Snape up against the wall. Robes were off and trousers shoved down in seconds, and Snape let himself be whirled around until his cheek pressed into the cold wall. He felt the thick head of Black's cock sliding between his thighs and he groaned without meaning to. A fist grasped his cock and tugged, and Snape let his own hands curl against the wall as Black shoved up against him, his breath hot on Snape's neck, his teeth scraping over Snape's shoulder, and his fist jerking Snape's cock hard enough to swing his balls back against the head of Black's cock, and oh God, it was friction he couldn't get on his own, an audience held captive by his needs.

"Not a fucking word and not a– fucking sound," breathed Black, his cock sliding down the cleft of Snape's arse and hitting his balls with every thrust, moisture easing the way as it beaded on the tip, and Snape felt the cold wall on his face and the hot fist around him and the wet burn between his thighs and could only bend his knees and push back, begging silently for more. He came over Black's fist in a heated rush, crushing his bottom lip between his teeth as the bastard kept squeezing too hard afterwards, and then there was a grunt behind him and the thrusting stopped. Warm wetness flooded his thighs and the cleft of his arse, dripping down his balls and into his trousers.

Black smeared his hand over Snape's hip and paused, swallowing thickly and lowering his head to Snape's shoulder for a second before stepping back and hauling his trousers back up.

He was gone without another word, but Snape lingered, his cheek and then his forehead heating against the cold tile of the wall and his fingers sliding slowly down.

*

It was fucking madness, that's what it was.

Three times a week, Snape would show up in that kitchen in those black robes, with that superior sodding attitude, and proceed to get hard just from the act of reporting Voldemort's latest bowel movement to a room full of star-struck Aurors. It was fucking ridiculous, but every time, Sirius sat there with his arms crossed and his chair carefully balanced, watching the great git and letting his words wash over him, trying to think of anything other than how good it had felt the last time he'd shut the bastard up with a well-timed cock in his mouth or his arse in the loo upstairs.

Sirius licked his lips and watched Snape carefully, taking in the way those dark eyes swept the room, feeding off every hint of a reaction from his audience, the way his pale skin would begin to colour as the meeting went on, and all Sirius had to do was picture the way Snape's cock was hardening under his robes, the thick, red length of it growing stiff from his own words and his own performance and the colour seeping up to his face, and it was all over. He could barely wait the ten requisite seconds after Snape made his departure before he shook off Molly and her soup ladle, or Remus and his endless offers of books or conversation, and headed upstairs.

Each time, they fucked quickly, messily, and silently. Words would only start a fight, after all, and fighting tended to get in the way of the fucking, so by unspoken agreement, neither of them bothered with words after those first few times. There was more than enough time for fighting when they were downstairs, after all, clothed and surrounded by those who had an interest in keeping their wands sheathed and their bodies far apart.

But for fifteen minutes every third night for God knew how many months, their bodies crashed together with hot tongues and biting kisses and hard, angry thrusts, and in that short time, Sirius forgot about the house, or the Occlumency lessons, or the dog that couldn't run free. He thought only of the pitch-perfect performer stripped bare underneath him.

Snape's entire existence was a stage show, carefully constructed for maximum approval from as many audiences as possible, and the pathetic git got off on that power, but for those fifteen minutes, with his shirt torn open and his cock slick with saliva or come and his back scraping against the wall, Snape was raw material, unrefined, unadorned, and unencumbered by the need for performance.

At least, that's what Sirius figured. If he was wrong, and the whole thing was just part of Snape's well-rehearsed act, then fuck him. It wasn't as though Sirius needed the charity. He could find a bloke to fuck who was a fair sight more appealing than Snape, for God's sake.

*

In June, the theatre abruptly closed for the season. His best performances behind him, Snape took his limp cock and retired to Spinner's End with only a rat for an audience, and he never thought of Sirius Black again.


-fin-

Note:
The title and summary are, of course, bastardisations of the line from Shakespeare's As You Like It: "All the world's a stage/ And all the men and women merely players" (Act II, Scene VII).



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